


Triptych

by diana_hawthorne (stsgirlie)



Series: Private Lives [4]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: Episode: s06e23 Aftershock, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stsgirlie/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends and colleagues wait at the hospital for news of Claire Kincaid after her accident. Mike, Liz, and Ben reflect on her life and their own.</p><p>A continuation of "Bad Timing."</p><p>Set in June 1996.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mike

The phone rings just as he pulls her to him, her hands sliding up his chest as he bends to kiss her. He groans and pulls back.

‘Ignore it, baby,’ she says, pouting when he leans over to pick up the phone.

‘Logan,’ he says, sucking in a breath as she lowers her hands to unbuckle his belt.

‘It’s Profaci,’ Tony says.

‘Hey, good to hear from you, man,’ he says. ‘But can we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of somethin’...’

‘Listen, Lennie and Claire Kincaid were in a car accident.’

‘What?’ he exclaims, leaping up from the couch to the blonde’s extreme dissatisfaction. He begins zipping back up his jeans.

‘Yeah. Lennie was drunk--Kincaid was drivin’ him home, got t-boned by a drunk driver.’

‘Lennie _drunk_?’ he repeats, astonished.

‘Yeah, I know--Scott’s execution was today, I guess it really fucked him up. He’s okay, but Kincaid’s in surgery… listen, the L.T. asked me to call you, see if you could go down to the hospital.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ he agrees. ‘Where are they?’

‘New York University Hospital.’

‘Yeah, I’ll be right there.’

‘Thanks, Mikey. Let me know what happens, okay?’

‘Yeah, will do.’ He hangs up the phone and says, ‘Fuck!’ loudly.

‘What’s wrong, baby?’ the blonde says again, and he looks down at her, unable for a moment to remember her name. Cindy? Mindy? something like that.

‘A friend was in an accident. I’m sorry, honey, but I’ve got to go.’

She pouts. ‘When am I gonna see you again?’

‘I’ll give you a call--I’m sorry about this, but I’ve really got to get going.’

He hurries her out the door, locking his apartment behind him. He’s already forgotten about her, though she grabs his arm and pulls him down for a kiss. He responds absentmindedly, his mind already at the hospital.

Jesus. Lennie hadn’t taken a drink in six years… what the fuck happened? And Claire… 

He puts the lights on and speeds down the FDR, making it to the hospital in record time. He flashes his badge at the desk and gets a quick answer as to Claire’s whereabouts. Lennie is there, sitting in one of those horrible waiting room chairs, and he looks up when he walks in.

‘Hell of a night, hey, Mikey?’ he quips weakly.

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, sitting in the chair next to him. ‘You okay, Lennie? What happened?’

‘Claire’s still in surgery. She came to this bar, McCoy had been there earlier but he left, and she found me there. I saw Cathy earlier,’ he says by way of explanation. ‘And it ended horribly, like it always does, and then there was this bar, and I went in.’ He sighs, and he realizes he’s never seen him like this, so defeated, so _old_. ‘Claire offered to drive me home. Some drunk t-boned us. She wasn’t breathing, Mike…’

He’s afraid that Lennie’s gonna cry--hell, _he_ might--and he can’t deal with that.

‘So Claire’s still sleeping with McCoy, huh?’ he asks. ‘Never understood that. She can do so much better than him…’

‘What, like you?’ he retorts, then sighs. ‘God, this has been the worst fucking day.’

‘I know,’ he says, resting a hand on his shoulder. He looks up and spots Anita--L.T., he corrects himself--walking towards them, and he stands up to meet her, bending down to hug her before he realizes what he’s doing. She returns his embrace--they both need a little comfort, he guesses--and says ‘Good to see you, L.T.’

‘You too, Mike.’ She looks up at him, her brow furrowed. ‘What happened? Has he told you anything?’

‘Not much. I got here a few minutes ago. He fell off the wagon,’ he tells her, still shocked. ‘The execution got to him I guess.’

‘It got to a lot of people. It was a tough day.’ She raises a hand to the back of her neck and rubs it. ‘Claire, too--we talked earlier before she went to pick up McCoy. She wanted to quit her job.’

‘Claire’s still in surgery.’

She nods. ‘Do they think she’s going to make it?’

He shrugs. ‘They don’t know. It doesn’t look good. They got rammed by another drunk driver.’

She nods again, then looks at Lennie. He’s still slumped in a chair, his head in his hands. She walks over to him and he follows her, watching as she lays a hand on his shoulder. She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow--presumably she’s smelled the stench of the bar. He lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug and nods.

‘Lennie--are you hurt?’ she asks.

He looks up at her slowly. ‘Someone needs to call McCoy. She came to pick him up and he’d left. I couldn’t--’

‘Of course. I’ll make some calls,’ she says, squeezing his shoulder. She starts to walk down the hallway and he follows her again.

‘Can I make some calls?’ he offers, wanting to do something, and rests his hand on her shoulder for stability.

‘I’m going to call Liz.’

He stiffens involuntarily, removing his hand from her shoulder and stuffing his hands in his pockets. ‘Liz Olivet? Why?’

‘I think she’ll be helpful. She’s a… calming presence, and we’ll need that with Jack and Lennie, don’t you think?’

‘I guess,’ he shrugs, torn between saying that yes, they need her, he needs her, and insisting she refuse to call him. ‘I’ll go back to Lennie, okay?’

‘Okay,’ she agrees, and he begins the long walk back to his former partner.

 _Jesus._ The last thing he needs, and the only thing he wants, is to have Liz here. They haven’t talked for a year and he’s tried desperately to forget her, to lose himself in other women, but nothing helps. Working domestic violence cases in New York’s garbage dump gives him too much time to think about her, what could’ve been, what _had_ been…

He rubs a tired hand over his eyes. How could this happen? What sort of fucked up day has this been? Lennie was always the responsible one… and now Claire was in surgery and might die.

She’s the only one he’s really talked to since he got shipped out to Staten Island. About a month after his transfer they’d met accidentally at a bar near his place and she’d admitted she was trying to get some space from McCoy. He wasn’t surprised, not really--she’d slept with that judge, after all, so clearly liked older, powerful men, and McCoy was definitely better looking than that fossil--but what surprised him was how, after their jobs no longer overlapped, they developed a real friendship.

That first night, after she told him about McCoy, she told him that she was thinking about leaving the law, or at least the D.A.’s office.

‘And what does McCoy think about that?’

‘I don’t know,’ she’d admitted. ‘I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t talked about it with anyone yet. But it’s hard, Mike. What I have with Jack… hell, I don’t know what it is. I told myself that after Thayer… after Thayer, I’d never get involved at work again. And then Jack came zipping along on his motorcycle and before I knew it we were in bed. And it worked well. We work well.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ he asked.

‘I feel like I’m suffocating. I can’t get away for him, from work, from anything… it’s my entire life and it feels like I’m drowning. I don’t feel like a separate person any more. I don’t know who I am.’

‘Yeah,’ he’d agreed, then stared into his drink. He’d lost himself too, along the way, after Liz… 

‘So what about you? Distract me. Who’s the flavor of the month?’

But her unexpected honesty prompted a similar response from him. ‘Bet you didn’t know that Liz and I were together for, oh, three years.’

‘Liz? Liz _Olivet_? Three _years_?’ she said in surprise, and he quirked a grin at her, trying to shrug off their relationship as though it was nothing more than an anecdote.

‘Guess we hid it well.’

‘I’d say,’ she said, astonished, leaning back in her barstool. ‘Liz Olivet. Wow.’

‘Yeah. We never made it public… we slept together the first time when she was still my shrink, so… and it would’ve been difficult at work, y’know.’

‘Yeah,’ she replied faintly. ‘But after…? You stayed together…?’ She sounded more confused by that than the fact they’d gotten together when he was seeing her professionally.

‘Yeah. I’m in love with her,’ he admitted, and he remembers thinking _Jesus, I’m drunk._

‘Will you be offended if I said I never thought you had it in you?’

He shrugged. ‘Never thought I had it in me either.’

‘Then what happened?’

He sighed and took a deep swig of his scotch. ‘She dumped me. I’d slept with someone else… after she was raped, I didn’t know what to do. I should’ve made Stone prosecute the guy before, should’ve found something else, should’ve kept working… but I didn’t and she went after him. She called me right after… told me to meet her at the hospital, that she’d been assaulted… and then the doctor told me she’d been raped.’ He signaled for another drink, draining the rest of his in a gulp. ‘Fucking bastard got a trial order of dismissal, too, after the jury convicted.’

‘I remember,’ she said. ‘I’d just started at the D.A.’s office.’

‘Yeah. So you know what happened. We got him eventually--Stone and Robinette got these other women to testify--but it tore her apart. She felt responsible for her patient getting raped… she’d recommended him and she felt it was her fault. I tried to help her… spent every night with her, sat with her at the trial, took her away after it was over… but in between there I got drunk in a bar and it was so easy to slip into a normal conversation without having to watch every word, to not stare at the woman I love who was hurting… it was easy to go back to her place and forget it all.’

‘Who was she?’ she asked quietly.

He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. But I told her, after… a long time after.’

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘If it was a mistake…?’

‘It turned out she was prosecuting a suspect Liz had been interviewing, and she mentioned after, in passing, that I owed her a drink after that night… it all came out after that. I wouldn’t have told her. It was a mistake, didn’t mean anything.’ He snorted derisively. ‘I know how stereotypical that sounds, but in my case it was the truth. God, it was the worst day of my life. And I’d just bought her a ring…’

‘You were going to _propose_?’ He didn’t think that she could be more surprised by that point but she proved him wrong. ‘Propose _marriage_?’

‘Yeah. We were supposed to go on vacation, go to Bermuda for a week, and I was gonna ask her then. And then this happened, and the next day I punched that asshole politician, and now…’ he laughed bitterly.

‘God, Mike, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I had no idea. Maybe that you two had slept together, but not this...’

‘Yeah.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes tiredly. ‘And the worst part is that… that no one else is like her. No one else is gonna be like her. I just feel like I’m wasting my time, lookin’ for something that will never be mine again. I always knew she was too good for me, that I didn’t deserve her… this proved me right.’

‘That’s not true,’ she protested. ‘Why don’t you talk to her, Mike?’

‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’

‘“Sorry” is a good start.’

He shrugged. ‘No use.’

‘How do you know if you’ve never tried? Promise me, Mike--talk to her.’

He was drunk by this time, and so was she. ‘If you talk to McCoy, I will.’

‘Deal,’ she agreed after a few moments’ thought.

He reaches Lennie and sits back down next to him, not speaking. He doesn’t know what to say, so he rests a hand on his back.

‘Did you call McCoy?’ Lennie asks when she rejoins them.

‘I called Liz Olivet. She’ll be here as soon as she can.’

Lennie nods, then stands up. ‘I’m gonna go get some coffee. I need to do something.’

‘I’ll call Jack, Lennie. Liz asked me to give her a head start.’

‘Yeah, thanks, Lieu. Can I get either of you some coffee? I think it’s gonna be a long night.’

‘Me, please,’ she says.

‘I’ll come with you,’ he offers, unwilling to sit here waiting for her to show up. Did Anita tell her he would be here? Now that he knows she’ll be here soon he’s nervous. ‘Help you carry it back.’

Lennie nods and the two of them walk off together.

‘Distract me, Mikey,’ he says. ‘Tell me about whatever girl you’re seeing. It’s a Friday night, I’m sure you were up to no good.’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees, and spins some ridiculous, overwrought tale as they get coffee, segueing into stories from his new precinct in Staten Island. When they return to their chairs, they pass Anita deeply involved in a phone call. They sit, and she joins them a few minutes later.

‘I called Jack. He’s on his way. Um--’ she pauses, then continues. ‘He asked if anyone called Claire’s parents yet.’

He shakes his head, looking at Lennie for confirmation. ‘Okay. I’m going to do that now, or Liz can when she gets here.’

‘I can do what?’ Liz says, approaching them, and his heart skips a beat. He can’t take his eyes off her… this is the closest they’ve been in a year, and everything he’s ever felt for her comes rushing back even though she ignores him. She looks so wonderfully familiar that he can almost believe she never left.

‘I came as soon as I could--Lennie, are you all right?’ she asks, kneeling on the floor next to Lennie, resting her hands on his knees.

‘I’ve been better,’ he quips weakly, and Liz smiles at him.

‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ Liz says gently, then turns to look up at Anita. ‘How’s Claire?’

‘We don’t know yet,’ she replies. ‘I called Jack; he’s on his way.’

Liz nods, then looks back at Lennie. ‘Do you… want to talk?’

‘I don’t think I could bear it right now, Doc,’ he tells her, his voice bleak for a moment before he gets ahold of himself. ‘Hey, do you want some coffee?’ he asks, changing the subject. ‘The cafeteria here makes a pretty decent cup of sludge.’

She chuckles at their long-running joke and for a moment it seems normal. She stands up. ‘As long as it’s better than the precinct, then yes. Want to come with me?’

He tears his eyes away from her for a moment to look at Anita; she’s silently pleading with him to offer to go with her so that she can talk to Lennie.

‘I’ll go with you,’ he offers abruptly, and for the first time she looks at him. He feels a jolt go through him--she’s never looked at him like this, her grey eyes ice cold--and then her eyes slide away, and she begins to say she can go on her own.

‘Actually, I’d like to talk to Lennie for a little bit,’ Anita says, and that shuts Liz up.

She swallows back whatever else she was going to say. ‘Fine, let’s go then,’ she tells him, taking off down the hallway before he can stand up. He catches up to her easily, reaching out to touch her back. She shies away from him violently, turning to look at him as they turn the corner.

‘ _Don’t_ touch me,’ she snaps.

‘Lizzie,’ he says, and he hears the begging in his voice. He needs to talk to her, he can’t let Claire down… she talked to McCoy, even though he talked her out of it again she still talked to him. He can’t be a coward… if he does this, maybe things will be all right… 

‘Don’t make this harder than it is already, Logan. Today has been a nightmare.’

‘You weren’t at the execution, were you?’ he asks, ignoring the hurt that swells at her impersonal address.

‘No, but I spent the afternoon with Jack McCoy… he was a wreck, even if he wouldn’t admit it. I can’t imagine what he’ll be like now...’

‘She drove to that bar to pick him up.’

She sighs and runs her hand through her hair in the way he’s always loved. ‘I desperately need coffee.’

‘Okay. Let’s go get some coffee,’ he says gently, and she smiles up at him. For a moment, everything is back to normal. She is his again, after so long… Then as she remembers where they are, what happened tonight, what happened a year ago, her smile fades and she looks away.

‘Let’s go, then,’ she says in her detached voice, and he leads her to the cafeteria, not touching her this time.

 

He watches her as they move through the coffee line, noting how restricted her movements are. He’s seen her like this before, locked into herself, after… after. All he wants is to reach out and take her into his arms as though nothing happened…

She turns to him after she’s added cream and sugar to her coffee. ‘Let’s go.’

He follows her down the hallway, though he stops before they turn the corner back to the waiting room. ‘I think we need to talk,’ he blurts out, afraid he’s gonna chicken out if he doesn’t say something now.

She stops and turns to look at him. ‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Logan,’ she says, cold and detached again, and she turns to walk away.

‘I was talkin’ to Claire about us--’ he begins, grabbing her arm to keep her here. She wrenches away, eyes flashing in anger.

‘How _dare_ you,’ she hisses, coldly furious. ‘We _agreed_.’

‘The fuck we did!’ he snaps angrily. ‘And even if we did, you kicked me out, told me we were over. You made that decision.’

‘I don’t recall you putting up much of a fight, Logan. In fact, I remember you just walking out.’

‘It was a mistake, Lizzie. That night was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.’

She scoffs. ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that. It’s incredible how delusional men can be.’

‘Well, it didn’t,’ he repeats stubbornly. ‘Jesus, that entire ordeal was a nightmare, and I didn’t know what to do to help you, and we were just talking…’

‘Yes, you’ve given me your excuses in the past.’

‘But you never listened! I know it happened to you, but Jesus, Lizzie, it broke my heart. I lost you--you lost yourself. I didn’t know what to do to help you… I needed to forget.’

‘And then you lied about it!’ she exclaims angrily. ‘You lied about it for _two years_ , Mike!’

‘Because it wasn’t anything and I didn’t want to hurt you! Tell me how I was supposed to tell you, Liz! You remember how it was, how you were, after… What was I supposed to do, come home and say, “oh, sorry honey, but I got drunk and accidentally fucked someone else”?’ He looks into her shocked eyes and takes a deep breath. ‘I couldn’t do that to you. You were already in so much pain… was I supposed to make it worse? _It didn’t mean anything_ ,’ he tells her urgently.

She looks away. ‘I don’t know,’ she admits softly, shaking her head. ‘We need to get back.’

‘But we’re not done talking!’ he says, and she looks at him seriously.

‘I can’t,’ she sighs at last, then turns around.

‘I bought you a ring,’ he says desperately, and watches as her back stiffens.

‘What?’ she says at last, voice choked. She doesn’t turn around.

‘A week before… before it was over. I bought you a ring. Would’ve got it sooner but it took awhile to save up… I was gonna ask you in Bermuda.’

He watches as her shoulders slump and she raises a hand, running a hand over her eyes, utterly defeated. After a few moments, she straightens up again and walks away from him without looking back.

 

He leans against the wall, watching her silently as she talks to McCoy, Lennie, Claire’s mother and stepfather. He feels superfluous, unnecessary. He goes back and forth from their awkward circle of chairs to the nurses’ station, bringing news as the hours tick by, but most of the time he just stares at her. He misses her so much. Not just her in bed--although of course he misses that too--but Liz herself, his beautiful, beloved Lizzie…

What he told Claire--that he’d never find anyone else like her--was true. He’s surprised that he even found her, had her for the briefest amount of time… surely he didn’t deserve her. Well, yeah, he didn’t, and that’s why she left.

He could stare at her for hours, pretending that they were still together. This night was horrific but it would be more manageable with her, if they were still together. Things would be completely different… he would still be at the 2-7, Lennie wouldn’t have gotten drunk tonight, Claire wouldn’t be in surgery, he would’ve gone to the execution and he would’ve gone home to Liz, to his wife… He runs a tired hand over his eyes.

At last they all fall silent, felled by the promise of news two hours ago, all of them fighting back the growing knowledge that something must have gone wrong.

He still can’t stop looking at her. He promised Claire he would tell her and he did. She knows, finally, what he needed her to know… is this going to change anything? Are they going to find their way back to each other at last?

Each time she looks up and sees him watching her she flushes miserably and looks away again, staring down at the cup of coffee she got hours ago. What’s she thinking? He’s never been able to tell, certainly not now.

So when the doctor walks down the hallway to them he’s almost relieved because no matter what he says this endless, fucked-up night will be finished at last.

But he honestly didn’t believe he’d say, ‘I’m so sorry. We did all we could do--’ and certainly didn’t expect the devastation that comes with those words, the gaping hole in his life now that he’s lost his only remaining confidante.

 _Claire is dead_ , he thinks, and looks up at Liz again. She’s grief-stricken, eyes wide, and this time she doesn’t look away.


	2. Liz

She grips her coffee tightly, trying desperately to ignore him even though he walks right next to her. Is this day really happening? Is Claire really in surgery after a car accident? This day has been a torment--her meeting with Adam Schiff that morning; her endless lunch with Jack--who, in the absence of Claire, was particularly difficult once he found Adam had talked to her; difficult patients and endless reports to write… when she finally got home she found herself missing Mike more than ever, longing to see him, to have him waiting for her there. Well, here he is, and she can barely look at him. They haven’t talked in a _year_ … she misses him so much, her life without him… it hurts her so desperately. He broke her heart so completely just when she finally put her life back together after… after. She was finally happy again… 

And he didn’t fight for her. He didn’t fight her when she told him they were finished. He just looked at her, walked into their bedroom, and packed up his things. She couldn’t even cry after he left. She canceled her appointments for the next few days, spent hours on the sofa in her living room watching reruns of _thirtysomething_ , clutching one of his tshirts to her chest, frozen. When the news came on, that next day, she watched footage of him punching that corrupt politician in the face. She thought until then that he didn’t care, that in the end he felt nothing… she was wrong. The papers ran with the story, printing endless articles and photographs for weeks until they finally moved onto the next thing. She heard a few weeks later that he’d been transferred to Staten Island, and that was the end of it, of them, forever.

Until now.

‘I think we need to talk,’ he says abruptly, just before they turn the corner back to the waiting room.

She stops walking and turns to look at him, summoning up her best imitation of her mother. ‘I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Logan.’ She turns away again, and he grabs her arm to stop her.

‘I was talkin’ to Claire about us--’

She doesn’t know what angers her more--the physical violation or the fact that he spoke to someone from work about them. They always tried to keep things private, unwilling to be a topic of gossip around the precinct. Of course a few people knew--Phil Cerreta, for one, and Don Cragen. Ben Stone figured it out after her trial, and she knew that there was a flutter of interest in the squad room during that time, speculation on Mike’s involvement and presence, though it died down again.

‘How _dare_ you,’ she hisses, looking up into his flashing hazel eyes. ‘We agreed.’

‘The fuck we did!’ he snaps at her, furious. ‘And even if we did, you kicked me out, told me we were over. You made that decision.’

Her heart clenches with anger, but she forces herself to stay cold. ‘I don’t recall you putting up much of a fight, Logan. In fact, I remember you just walking out.’

‘It was a mistake, Lizzie. That night was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.’

She scoffs. ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that. It’s incredible how delusional men can be.’

‘Well, it didn’t,’ he repeats, reverting to the pig-headed, stubborn man who so annoyed her at the beginning. ‘Jesus, that entire ordeal was a nightmare, and I didn’t know what to do to help you, and we were just talking…’

‘Yes, you’ve given me your excuses in the past.’

‘But you never listened! I know it happened to you, but Jesus, Lizzie, it broke my heart. _I lost you_ \--worse, you lost yourself. I didn’t know what to do to help you… I needed to forget.’

‘And then you lied about it!’ she exclaims, angry and hurt, the pain fresh as she confronts him. ‘You lied about it for _two years_ , Mike!’

‘Because it wasn’t anything and I didn’t want to hurt you! Tell me how I was supposed to tell you, Liz! You remember how it was, how you were, after… What was I supposed to do, come home and say, “oh, sorry honey, but I got drunk and accidentally fucked someone else”?’ He looks into her eyes and takes a deep breath; her heart pounds. ‘I couldn’t do that to you. You were already in so much pain… was I supposed to make it worse? _It didn’t mean anything_ ,’ he tells her urgently.

She looks away, listening to his words for the first time, feeling some of the anger fade away. He’s right… and she hates it, because what he did was wrong, but… it was a coping mechanism, she knows that better than anyone, and he came back to her, stayed with her, because he was in love with her… ‘I don’t know,’ she admits at last, shaking her head. ‘We need to get back.’

‘But we’re not done talking!’ he says, and she looks up at him, the man she loves, and thinks _what if_ …

‘I can’t,’ she says, finally, and turns away from him again.

‘I bought you a ring,’ he tells her desperately, and she stops, frozen. _A ring?_

‘What?’ she asks him, her voice choked with sudden tears. She can’t turn around, can’t look at him, not with her mind and heart racing, their entire relationship shifting in her eyes. He wanted to _marry_ her…? He’d never mentioned it again after their one brief conversation about a future, children… the only one they ever really had. And then years passed and he never mentioned it again and she came to think that he didn’t really mean it, not really, or not with her.

His voice is carefully emotionless, though she hears an unfamiliar tremor there. ‘A week before… before it was over. I bought you a ring. Would’ve got it sooner but it took awhile to save up… I was gonna ask you in Bermuda.’

She can’t believe his words and she raises a hand to her eyes in the futile hope that blocking out the world will make it better, make this all go away. It doesn’t. Instead images of her life--what her life could have been--pass before her eyes. His ring on her finger, their life together, marriage, the children she’d imagined for them… all gone. If he had bought her a ring why didn’t he stay and fight…? How could he just walk away…? She straightens her back and walks away from him without looking back.

 

Jack is there when she returns. She is grateful that her distress is easily explained by this difficult night. He looks up at her from his seat next to Anita and Lennie, his eyes filled with grief. She sits down next to him, rests a hand on his arm, and listens as he talks. She speaks to Lennie too, and Claire’s parents, doing what she does best--listening. She is aware, always, of Mike hovering just outside of her line of vision, but she refuses to think about him just yet.

Finally everyone runs out of words, and she finds herself sitting across from him in a makeshift circle of chairs. She tries to focus on anything but him, looking down into an empty cup of coffee that was finished hours ago, but she can’t. She keeps darting glances at him, flushing and looking away again when she catches his gaze on her. So much has changed now that she knows… 

If she hadn’t overheard that ADA flirt with him that day, if she hadn’t recalled their dinner, she never would have known. Was her life better for knowing? She doesn’t have to think--it’s not. If she hadn’t found out… if he hadn’t left… they would be engaged now, would be happy together as they were, would be waiting for news of Claire as a couple, leaning on each other, instead of whatever they are now.

When the doctor comes at last, hours after they expected him, she knows what’s coming.

‘I’m so sorry--we did all we could do,’ he tells them, and she looks up and sees Mike looking at her. This time she doesn’t look away.

 

Anita takes Lennie home and Jack stays to help Claire’s parents, leaving the two of them together. They step out of the hospital in silence, and she is surprised to see it’s a beautiful morning.

‘Should be a dark, stormy night, shouldn’t it?’ he says, picking up on her thoughts.

She looks away, unwilling to involve herself in a conversation with him. She starts walking towards the subway and he follows her.

‘Are we gonna talk about it?’ he asks.

She does look at him at that and weighs her options before she replies. She wants nothing more than to go back in time, to allow him to soothe her after this traumatic night, but she can’t just step back into his arms.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she admits wearily, looking into his eyes.

‘I’m still in love with you,’ he replies. His shoulders are hunched, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he faces her.

‘Not today,’ she tells him, incapable of dealing with this, overwhelmed with grief--not only because of Claire, but also because of the life she’s just learned she’s lost.

‘Why not today? If we learned anything about today it’s that life is short…’

‘Please,’ she begs him, desperate to have him stop. ‘Please, Mike, I can’t, not now.’

She watches as he twists his ring on his finger, then says softly, ‘then just let me take you home, Liz, please. You’ve had a long day--I just want to make sure you’re all right.’

‘I’m fine,’ she lies, summoning up every ounce of strength she has left so that she doesn’t fall apart.

‘I know you’re not, Lizzie,’ he tells her, voice gentle. ‘I’m not either. Please--let me do this for you.’ He reaches out tentatively and touches her cheek and she begins to cry, helpless tears, reaching out for him blindly. He enfolds her into his embrace and she presses her cheek against his soft shirt as she sobs--for Claire, for Jack, for them.

‘Shh,’ he whispers, stroking her hair, and she wraps her arms around his waist, holding him tight. ‘Let me take you home, Lizzie, please.’

She nods against his chest, shifting slightly, brushing tears away. He wraps his arm tightly around her waist and hails a cab, bundling her into it. As soon as he closes the door behind them he gives the driver her address and she turns to him again, looking up at him. He strokes her cheek gently and she buries her face against his chest again, inhaling his familiar scent, relishing the feel of his arms around her once again, indulging herself, allowing herself to be soothed for a brief moment. But by the time they reach her apartment, she’s forced herself to stop crying, biting her lip hard as she pulls away from him.

‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she says, rummaging in her purse for money to pay the driver. ‘Goodbye, Mike.’

‘Let me walk you upstairs, Lizzie,’ he asks.

She slides away from him, stepping out of the cab. ‘I can’t, Mike. If I do…’ She bites her lip again, then closes the door quickly, running into her building and away from him.

 

She tells the doormen not to let him up and she ignores his calls, listening to the endless litany of messages as she lies on her sofa, back in the same place she was a year ago.

_Lizzie, it’s me… please pick up. We need to talk._

_I know you’re there, honey, please pick up the phone…_

_Lizzie… I’m still in love with you. Please call me, honey, we need to talk, I need you…_

What is she going to do? She can’t pick up the phone. She needs time to think, time to grieve. She closes her eyes and presses play on her answering machine again and again.

_Lizzie, it’s me…_

 

On the day of Claire’s funeral she wakes up early, goes for a long walk around the park, then comes home to get ready for the afternoon. She dresses carefully in knee-length black sheath, spends an hour putting on her makeup, carefully constructing a facade. She knows Mike will be at the funeral and she needs to be perfect, cold, untouchable. She can’t fall apart in public, not like this, even if she feels like she’s drowning…

Mike and Lennie are there already, sitting with Don Cragen, Anita Van Buren, and Anita’s husband. She finds a pew on the opposite side of the church, fixing her eyes on the altar, avoiding his gaze. She sees Claire’s parents and Jack sitting together, clearly grieving. Adam Schiff and Paul Robinette sit a few rows behind them. She sees other colleagues from the DA’s office and the precinct, and she is joined in her pew by a few colleagues she recognizes by sight.

She can’t focus on the service. The words wash over her as she thinks about Claire. She was only a few years older than Claire… how could she be dead? She was so young, so full of promise… they’d been friends. She enjoyed her company both over briefs and after, sipping wine as they complained about Jack or Adam… all gone now.

Mike said he talked to Claire about them. What did he tell her? What did she think? She never gave any sign she knew… unlike Claire, who confided in her about Jack, the stress of working day-in, day-out with him, she never mentioned Mike. They’d had their own problems, of course--fighting over her diagnoses, little things at work, her parents, his flirtations… but it didn’t mean much. It didn’t mean anything at all, and they always made up, until the end.

The service comes to a close and she stands up with the rest of the attendees, joining the line as they file into the parish hall. She smiles briefly at Claire’s parents, then moves towards the kitchen to collect a cup of coffee. On her way there, she spies a familiar figure standing alone. She walks to him, asking, ‘Ben? Is that you?’ He turns to her and smiles. It is him. ‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ she says.

He smiles down at her--she’d forgotten how tall he is, as tall as Mike--and bends to kiss her cheek.

‘Adam called me and I took the first flight back. How are you? You look well,’ he says, his voice utterly familiar and comforting.

‘You don’t look so bad yourself. I am doing well--how are you? How is Europe? Are you in town for long?’ she asks curiously, still surprised to find him here.

‘Europe is… well, it’s Europe. And I’m not sure how long I’ll be stateside. It depends on a few things,’ he tells her. ‘I’d love to take you to dinner, to catch up?’ he suggests, and she looks up at him curiously. He’s changed; he’s more relaxed, less… caught up in everything, in propriety. She notices again that he is a very attractive man.

She smiles at him. ‘I’d like that very much,’ she replies, then scrabbles through her purse. She extracts her business card and writes a number on the back. ‘Here’s my home phone number… why don’t you give me a call?’

He returns her smile--and he’s so handsome when he smiles, she thinks, not for the first time. ‘I’d like that. There’s… there’s not any chance that you’d be free tonight?’

So, the invitation had more attached to it than simply catching up. Of course she realized he was attracted to her--over the years they worked together he had flirted in his own way, but she never responded, caught up as she was with Mike. But now… now, she is trying to forget Mike, to start a new life, a different life. Ben… Ben would be different, if only to give her some space to work things out.

‘All right,’ she agrees, and he smiles again.

‘Seven o’clock?’ he suggests. ‘I’m staying at the University Club, we could eat there.’

‘I look forward to it,’ she replies, looking into his eyes. He is studying her intently and she fights back a blush. ‘I should go. I need to check on Lennie. He’s taking this… he’s suffering a lot,’ she stumbles, off-kilter from Ben’s gentlemanly proposition.

‘I can imagine,’ he says. ‘All right--I’ll see you at seven.’

She smiles again. ‘I’ll see you at seven.’

She turns to walk back to the coffee table, aware of his eyes watching her.

 

She takes her time getting ready. Even if he couldn’t say it, it is very clear he asked her on a date, and she prepares accordingly. She hasn’t dated anyone since Mike… hasn’t even gone to dinner with any of the men she grew up with, like Jim. But Ben won’t be here for long, and it won’t be awkward--she knows him well, knows about her relationship with Mike and her rape--there is nothing she needs to explain to him. She can go to dinner with him and try to get Mike out of her system, seek comfort in his arms, and she needs comfort… so she dresses in black lace lingerie, her favorite thigh-high stockings, black heels, a fitted black silk dress. She carefully sprays on perfume--Chanel 19, replaced after… and then gathers her things together. Tony, her favorite doorman, hails her a cab, and she heads downtown to the University Club.

She is a few minutes late and as she walks into the bar she spies him sitting alone, sipping a whiskey and soda.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late--I couldn’t find a cab,’ she says, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

He smiles at her and she notes again how well he looks--rested, content, wearing a perfectly fitted suit.

‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ he replies. ‘You look wonderful. Can I get you a drink?’

‘I’d love a gin martini,’ she says, and he orders one for her as she leans back and studies him.

‘Do have something on my face?’ he asks laughingly.

She shakes her head. ‘No,’ she replies thoughtfully, still studying. ‘You look… different.’

He raises an eyebrow, a familiar gesture from him, though one that doesn’t set her pulse racing as the same gesture did when coming from Mike… ‘I hope that’s a good thing.’

Her drink arrives and she picks it up, taking a sip before responding, ‘yes, you look… settled.’

He laughs. ‘I hardly think my peripatetic life over the past two years could be defined as “settled.”’

‘So, where have you been wandering?’ she asks, leaning forward.

‘London, Rome, Paris… I was in Paris when Adam called me,’ he says, looking into her eyes. ‘It’s been… interesting.’

‘Yes, it must be a change from the D.A.’s office. And you’re writing thrillers now?’ she enquires.

He chuckles. ‘I couldn’t think what else to do to occupy my time. It is rather… amusing.’

‘I will admit I haven’t read them yet, but I would like to,’ she says.

‘I think I have spare copies--I can get them for you after dinner,’ he offers, and she smiles. Yes, this is certainly a date, she thinks.

‘Thank you.’ She drains her glass and sets it down on the bar.

‘Would you like another, or are you ready for dinner?’ he asks politely.

‘Dinner, I think,’ she says, and he inclines his head, helping her from her seat and resting one hand on her back as he guides her to the table. There is a bottle of wine waiting for them, and he waits until it has been poured and they are both settled to speak again.

‘I’ve wanted to ask you for dinner for a long time,’ he admits.

‘Why didn’t you ask before?’ she asks, meeting his gaze.

‘We worked together. It wouldn’t have been proper. And… you were seeing someone else,’ he says tactfully.

She flushes and looks away. ‘We haven’t been together for some time now,’ she replies, conveniently omitting the other night. Well, it didn’t count anyway…

‘Yes, I’d gathered.’ He pauses and looks at her carefully. ‘I figured that now is my chance.’

She looks at him carefully. Yes, he has changed--he’s far more direct now about his intentions. He’s interested in her.

‘I’m flattered that you’ve waited so long to ask me on a date.’

‘I’m honored that you said yes. It means a lot to me, Elizabeth, that you’ll give me a chance.’

So few men call her Elizabeth now… she’s missed that, the way her name sounds on his lips. “Elizabeth” is a completely different woman from the Lizzie she was to Mike, the woman who foolishly fell in love with him and let him break her heart… She takes a sip of wine and smiles.

‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. Tell me about Europe--are you living in Paris now or were you just visiting?’

She listens with real enjoyment to his stories about life in Paris. He has a flat in Saint-Germain and she tells him of her own life there when she studied at the Sorbonne in college. It is easy to remember how much she liked him when they worked together, how comfortable she felt with him. Even during that monster’s trial, when he took charge of her witness prep, he made sure she was as comfortable as she could be in recounting his heinous acts. She was grateful at the time, and grateful now that she doesn’t need to explain it to him.

Dinner passes remarkably quickly and when the last of their plates have been cleared she sets her napkin on the table and thanks him profusely. ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time.’ It is the truth.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. I can’t imagine listening to me blather on for hours is particularly interesting.’

‘Of course it is,’ she says, laying a hand on his arm deliberately. She notices that he flushes. ‘Now, you promised me copies of your books.’

‘Of course,’ he agrees, gazing into her eyes. As they rise from their table, he once again rests his hand on her back, firmly in the middle, perfectly proper. She smiles to herself.

When the elevator comes he stands carefully beside her, not too close, as though he’s measured to a centimeter where he can stand without making her uncomfortable. She stands behind him as he unlocks the door to his suite, noticing again that he is flushed. When she enters the room, she gratefully kicks off her heels and curls up on the sofa.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asks, and she asks for brandy, sipping it as he goes off to find copies of his books for her. She scans the room while he looks, noticing the notebooks piled on the desk, the half-open closet door, the large bed.

He comes back more quickly than she expects, handing her the books eagerly. She sets aside her brandy and cursorily flips through the first one, then sets them aside as well.

‘Thank you, Ben. I can’t wait to read them.’

‘I hope you like them,’ he says, gazing at her again.

‘I’m sure I will,’ she assures him, holding his gaze as she reaches out to rest a hand on his upper arm. ‘You have always been very eloquent.’

She watches him closely as he looks down at her hand, then back into her eyes. She deliberately runs her hand down his arm, a caress, and when she reaches his elbow she squeezes lightly. She sees him thinking, weighing her actions and what they mean, and then he tentatively lifts a hand, reaching out to touch her cheek lightly. She leans into his touch, smiling.

‘Elizabeth,’ he says, his voice low. She leans forward and kisses him.

This is the first time in four years she’s kissed anyone but Mike and Ben is certainly different. He returns her kiss softly, taking his time to learn the way her lips move against his. She moves closer to him first, wrapping one arm around his neck and running one hand up his chest, feeling the surprisingly firm muscles beneath. He slides an arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, and with his other hand cups the back of her head. He deepens the kiss at last, and she opens her mouth willingly, pressing up against him. He lowers his hand and touches, ever so lightly, her breast, tracing the outline of her lace bra before he begins to caress her. She hasn’t been touched like this in so long and she can’t restrain a slight moan as he cups her breast, running his thumb over her nipple. Suddenly he pulls back and she blinks up at him, confused.

‘Why are you stopping?’ she asks him breathlessly, moving her hand to his neck, rubbing small circles at the nape.

‘I don’t want to rush things,’ he says.

She laughs, unable to help herself. ‘Ben, we’ve known each other for five years. I hardly think that this is rushing anything.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, so eager that she wants to laugh again. He is sweet…

‘Yes,’ she says firmly, leaning forward to kiss him again and stave off any further protestations. She shifts her weight so she sits on his lap, pushing him back against the arm of the sofa, straddling him. His erection presses against her and she restrains a moan--oh, God, it’s been so long… He responds immediately, pulling her closer. One hand--so different than Mike’s, she thinks muzzily, large but gentle and slim-fingered--runs down the length of her back, settling on her bottom. Her breath catches in her throat as he squeezes lightly, and she reaches up to loosen his tie. He pulls away again and she sighs inwardly.

‘I didn’t--please don’t think I asked you up here for this,’ he stumbles, settling his hands carefully on her waist. ‘I don’t want you to think… Elizabeth, I want to pursue this. I don’t want this to be just one night. And I don’t want to… to rush you.’

‘No, I didn’t think you did brought me up here to have your way with me,’ she giggles, irresistibly amused as she strokes his cheek. ‘We can go slowly, Ben--just relax, kiss a little… become comfortable with each other.’

‘If you’re sure,’ he says, and she smiles.

‘Don’t you want me, Ben?’ she says, teasing him.

‘God, yes,’ he says quickly, and she laughs again. She looks into his eyes and deliberately eases his jacket off his shoulders, then loosens his tie. After she discards his tie, she unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt, then sits back on his knees, looking at him. He’s all worked up--she can feel very clear evidence of it pressing against her thigh--and she smiles at him.

‘There,’ she says. ‘You look much more comfortable now.’

He swallows. ‘And you? Are you… comfortable?’ he asks, reaching out to run his hand down her arm. She shivers under his touch.

She licks her lips deliberately and she watches as he swallows. ‘I could be… more comfortable,’ she says slowly.

‘How can I help?’ he asks, his voice almost a growl.

She moves closer, wrapping her arms around his neck as she straddles him again. He runs his hand up her thigh and she leans down to kiss him, sighing happily at his caress. As she kisses him, he pushes up the skirt of her dress, moaning into her mouth as he runs a finger beneath her garter. She pulls back and gasps lightly at his gentle touch.

‘Oh God, Elizabeth,’ he says, looking up at her, breathing heavily. His hair is satisfyingly mussed and she is in no doubt as to how she is affecting him.

‘Mm, Ben,’ she murmurs, lowering her hand to press against his cock, satisfyingly hard. She feels her stomach clench with desire as she feels him--he’s big, not as big as Mike but he would feel so good inside her, and oh, she wants him, anyone, so badly… She looks into her eyes as she traces his length, beginning to massage him, when he gasps.

‘Elizabeth--you have to stop.’

She looks up, not removing her hand, and flutters her lashes teasingly. ‘You’re not enjoying this?’

‘You know I am--I don’t want to--I don’t want to rush--’ he begins, and she takes his hand, guiding it up to her breast. Maybe he just needs some persuasion… she’s never been with someone so tentative before.

‘I want you,’ she says, looking into his eyes. ‘I want you, but if you don’t want to continue--we can stop.’

‘I just--it’s been so long, I don’t want--’ he stutters, dropping his hand as though he’s been burned. He’s flushed embarrassedly and she feels a wave of tenderness towards him. She sits down on his lap, kissing his cheek lightly.

‘It’s been a long time for me too,’ she says gently, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘Over a year, since…’ she admits, trailing off into silence.

He strokes her hair and she feels a wave of sadness and regret swamp her. It’s been over a year since she was held by Mike, by anyone. That last time… they had no idea it would be the last time. The alarm had gone off in the morning and he’d rolled over to kiss her, enthusiastically removing her clothes despite her protests that they’d be late for work. It was quick, a promise for later, and after they finished they’d jumped in the shower and arrived at the precinct a half hour late for a suspect interview. But there wasn’t a later--that was it. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, and kisses her forehead gently.

‘Don’t apologize, Ben. It’s absolutely fine.’ After a moment she straightens up, looking away, overwhelmed with embarrassment for throwing herself at him, realizing what a mistake this was. She doesn’t want Ben and he doesn’t want her, either, or at least not enough. ‘I’ll go--it’s late.’

‘It’s too late for you to go home,’ he says, ‘won’t you stay? I’ll take the sofa.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I am sorry, Ben. I’m mortified… I think it’s best if I just go.’

‘I’m the one who needs to apologize, Elizabeth,’ he says and there is an urgent tone in his voice. She glances up from under her lashes, noting his consternation. ‘I’m so sorry I made you uncomfortable--that was not my intention.’

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, steeling herself to look up into his eyes. ‘You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Ben. I’m the one who pushed so hard… I took advantage of your kind nature. I hope you don’t think badly of me… I hope we can remain friends.’

He steps closer to her, resting a gentle hand on her arm. ‘I could never think ill of you, Elizabeth.’

She presses the tips of her fingers together anxiously, bringing her hands together and apart at waist level in some agitation. ‘Thank you,’ she says at last. He holds her gaze for a long moment before she drops her eyes and moves away. He follows her out of the bedroom to the living room. She collects her trench coat from the armchair where she deposited it earlier and shrugs into it.

‘Goodbye, Ben,’ she says, pausing at the door to look back at him.

He swallows and nods, looking distraught. She gives him a tentative smile in response, then closes the door firmly behind her, blushing feverishly.


	3. Ben

He collapses on the sofa after Elizabeth leaves abruptly, burying his head in his hands. He’s made such a goddamn fool of himself--what was he thinking? He’d been more than half in love with her for five years and here she was, literally in his lap, and he pushed her away. She wanted him, she made that perfectly clear, and he let her walk out the door mortified and ashamed, let her think that he didn’t want her… 

He’s an idiot; worse, he was awful to her. He led her on. He’s the one who asked her to dinner, asked her back up to his room, caressed her--and at the critical moment made her feel embarrassed, unhappy, uncomfortable. How horrible he was to her… 

They met for the first time five years ago. She was perched on the edge of Mike Logan’s desk in the squad room, legs crossed, arguing ferociously with him, hands gripping the edge of the desk, leaning forward so the first thing he saw when he walked in was the slightest hint of her white lace bra peeking out from her silk blouse. When they noticed him they stopped arguing abruptly and she straightened up, sliding off his desk to shake his hand.

Before that day he’d seen her name on briefs, Paul had used her as a witness, and she had worked for the city for three months without them meeting. They only met that day because he needed to question her about the report she wrote about a schizophrenic homeless man who murdered someone else, the report that claimed he wasn’t responsible for his actions although he committed the murder during a period of lucidity. He came to argue with her, to try to convince her to change her report, but at that first sight of her he couldn’t argue with her, not then. She slid off that desk and discussed her report with him, coolly and calmly, so unlike the woman who was arguing with Logan five minutes earlier but when he walked away he was convinced of her point and couldn’t stop thinking about her. He set up more meetings with her, they became friends, and he was just working up the nerve to ask her to dinner when she was raped.

What a horrible time that was. Outwardly she still appeared calm, in control, going through witness prep with him without batting an eye, even admitting to a personal relationship with Logan on the stand. Now that took him by surprise--he nearly lost track of his line of questioning, coming back to the point only with effort. The only time she showed any personal emotion to him was when she fought him about her patient, the reason she went to that monster in the first place… and after the trial, after the judge dismissed the case and he failed her, he saw the two of them together outside the courtroom. She was leaning against the wall, looking up into his eyes, one arm looped around his waist as he stroked her cheek. He’d never, ever thought that Logan would be like that with any woman--he thought that whatever Elizabeth was doing with him was physical only, not that she actually felt anything for him. He walked away quickly though he couldn’t stop thinking about them together.

Claire too. He still can’t believe she’s gone… she was so young, vibrant, filled with life… how could she be dead when he is still here?

Life lost a lot of its color after he left, after Anne Madsen’s death. He left for Europe because it was easy, easier, at least, then staying in New York. He left behind his friends, his daughter, his ex-wife, and his assistant. Claire…

After her censure, after he learned about her affair with Thayer, he couldn’t help but think what if… Of course he never acted on anything. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. If he had stayed, perhaps… but he left only a few days after Anne Madsen’s death, and nothing ever became of them. He never responded to her infrequent letters, sent to an address she’d pilfered from Adam’s desk. And then, of course, Jack McCoy came along and swept her off her feet… 

He can’t believe she’s dead.

He talked about her for the first time with Paul and Adam the night before the funeral. It felt like the old days, the pre-Claire days, days when the three of them met after a successful case for scotch and the occasional cigar.

Paul filled them in on life in private practice and Adam spoke of life at the office, carefully skirting away from cases that involve McCoy and Claire. He told them about Europe, his writing, his daughter. Adam talked about his new grandson over their entrees, and it is only after dinner concluded and they sat there sipping scotch that he managed to ask more about the accident.

‘It was a terrible tragedy,’ Adam pronounced gravely. ‘As I told you, she went to pick up Jack from a bar, but he’d already left by the time she arrived. Detective Briscoe was… under the weather… and Miss Kincaid offered to drive him home. A drunk driver ran a red light and plowed into them. He was unharmed, as was Detective Briscoe. The doctors did everything they could to save Miss Kincaid, but…’

He forced himself to loosen his white-knuckled grip on his glass of scotch, picturing the scene, her body tossed by the car crash, her pale skin bruised and bloody.

‘She wrote to me, off and on, over the past two years,’ he admitted bitterly, looking down into the amber liquid. ‘I never wrote her back.’

‘I’m sure she understood,’ Paul said.

He shrugged sadly. ‘Too late now.’

‘Yeah,’ Paul replied, and they sat in silence.

Life is so short… that night at dinner he made up his mind to seek out Elizabeth, to see if there was something there, whether or not she was with Logan. So much wasted time… well, he wrecked his chances with her, possibly irrevocably. He’ll send her flowers in the morning, call her and apologize again. He can’t lose any more time.

Standing up from the sofa, he walks into the bedroom, changing into pyjamas and climbing into bed. Despite coming to terms--or attempting to--with his caddish behavior, he can’t sleep. He stares up at the ceiling writing and rewriting his note to Elizabeth in his head for hours, finally falling asleep just as his alarm clock goes off.

 

A few hours later he drags himself out of bed, exhausted, and showers, then dresses before he goes downstairs. Bypassing the dining room, he goes around the corner to a diner for breakfast. He drinks copious cups of coffee, unused to going through the day on so little sleep although this was his life only two short years ago. He feels vaguely nauseous and confines himself to an omelette, toast, and coffee.

When he finishes he pays the bill and goes out to find a florist. There used to be one a few blocks away, but it’s turned into another coffee shop. He finally finds one fifteen blocks up and is set to purchase a dozen pink roses before he realizes he doesn’t have her home address. Well, it’s a Friday--she should be at the office, so he has them sent to the address on her business card.

He pays for immediate delivery, afraid he’ll lose his nerve otherwise, and writes the note as they wrap up the flowers.

_Dearest Elizabeth, please accept my most abject apologies for my behavior last night. I do hope that you might be able to forgive me. You are a brilliant, beautiful, compassionate woman and I truly value you and your friendship. Yours always, Ben_

‘You done?’ the clerk asks, and he nods, handing over the note. At least that’s done, he thinks as he leaves the flower shop. Now maybe he can get some sleep.

 

He goes back to the club to take a nap, waking up refreshed a few hours later. He’s starving and takes a shower before changing for lunch. This time he decides to eat in the dining room downstairs and he collects his notebook with the draft of his latest novel before going downstairs. He’s seated by the window and orders steak frites with a glass of Merlot before focusing on continuing his outline.

‘Mr. Stone?’ the waiter says.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s a telephone call for you. Would you care to take it?’

‘Who is it?’ he asks, slightly annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of writing.

‘A Ms. Olivet,’ the waiter replies, and he stands up with alacrity.

‘Yes, of course. Where is it?’

‘Just in the telephone booth. If you’ll follow me,’ he says, and he does, his heart beating rapidly.

‘Hello?’

‘Ben?’ she says, and he sighs silently in relief at the sound of it. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your lunch--’

‘Please don’t worry about that, Elizabeth,’ he says immediately. ‘I’m delighted to hear from you.’

‘I just wanted to call to thank you for the flowers--they’re lovely, and extremely thoughtful. Thank you.’

‘Of course Elizabeth--it’s the least I can do. I do apologize again--’

This time she interrupts him. ‘Please let’s just forget it, Ben, put it behind us.’

‘I’d like that very much,’ he says, then takes a deep breath before asking, ‘do you have any plans tonight? Could I take you to dinner?’

She pauses and his heart races, afraid this pause means she is contemplating how best to let her down. ‘I’m afraid I have dinner plans already but if you wouldn’t mind coming to my apartment we could have a quick drink before I go out?’ she suggests at last, and he lets out an audible sigh of relief.

‘That would be lovely,’ he says, smiling into the receiver.

‘All right. How about 5:30?’

‘Perfect.’

She gives him her address and he hangs up, promising to be there at 5:30. Hanging up the phone, he is suddenly ravenous and filled with goodwill. He goes back into the dining room to his lunch and his work.

 

He decides to walk to her apartment and arrives fifteen minutes early, stopping in some shock in front of her Upper East Side building. He knew that she came from some money--that was obvious--but he didn’t expect this. He gives his name to the doorman and is ushered up to her floor. His heart beats quickly as he raises his hand to rap on her door, and she opens it almost immediately.

She smiles at him, looking beautiful in her work clothes. ‘Come in, Ben,’ she says, stepping back to allow him to enter. He does so, his arm brushing hers lightly as he steps past her. ‘What would you like to drink? Wine, a martini, scotch?’ she offers, leading him into her large, spacious living room.

‘A scotch would be wonderful, Elizabeth, thank you,’ he says, and takes the seat she indicates.

She nods, stepping over to the liquor cabinet in the corner and pouring him a scotch. Bringing it back over to him, he looks at her in surprise as she doesn’t have anything for herself.

‘Would you excuse me for a moment, please? I need to change for dinner but I promise I’ll be right back.’

‘Of course--I know that I’m early,’ he says, apologetic, and she gives him a small smile before she steps out of the living room.

After she goes he looks around at the well-decorated room. It is very like her, classic and clean, the shelves filled with books and photographs, signs of a busy life. Two slipper chairs flank the fireplace, and they and a large white sofa frame a large red oriental rug. Her bronze and glass end tables hold dozens of silver-framed photographs featuring a large assortment of people. He studies them carefully--Elizabeth receiving her diploma, sailing as a child, standing on the deck of a boat looking just as she did when he first knew her. There are fresh flowers, lilies, on the coffee table in front of him, and her large windows show Park Avenue below to its best advantage.

While she is gone the phone rings. He stands up and walks towards the hallway; the door at the end of the hall, presumably her bedroom, is closed, and she seems to be busy as the phone continues to ring. Finally the answering machine picks up.

_Hello, this is Liz. I’m unable to take your call right now; please leave a message._

There is silence for a moment on the other line before he hears Logan’s voice.

‘Lizzie--are you there?’ another pause, then, ‘Please, Lizzie, just call me back. I know it was a bombshell but you’ve got to talk to me. I love you. I’m in love--’

The message stops abruptly--presumably she picks up the phone. Five minutes later she emerges, her eyes glittering strangely, her smile forced and brittle.

‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she says, her voice falsely cheerful. ‘Let me just make myself a martini.’

He sits there silently, watching her as she vigorously shakes her martini. What was the bombshell? And Logan… Logan, who apparently is still part of her life even though they ended their relationship a year ago.

‘What do you plan to do while you’re in town?’ she asks, sitting down on the sofa next to him. ‘There’s a Toulouse-Lautrec exhibition at the Met that’s quite good.’

‘I’m not sure,’ he admits, looking into her eyes. ‘I have a meeting with my agents on Monday but other than that I have no plans. It was such a last minute trip…’ 

She nods understandingly. ‘Of course.’

The phone rings again and he sees her tense, watching as she walks deliberately to the telephone to pick it up.

‘Hello?’ she says calmly, though he notices her white-knuckled grip on the receiver. She is silent, listening to a long stream of conversation on the other end, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.’ She hangs up the phone firmly.

‘Is everything all right, Elizabeth?’ he asks. She turns back to him, looking slightly startled.

She clears her throat before responding, ‘Fine. Everything’s fine.’

She doesn’t sit down, simply paces holding her martini.

‘Are you sure? I hope you know… if you want to confide in me… I’m a good listener.’

She seems tempted, her resolution clearly wavering before she turns away from him, shaking her head. ‘Thank you, Ben, but I can’t.’

He sighs inwardly, working up his courage to say what he needs to say. ‘I am so sorry that you are hurting. I want you to know, Elizabeth--if there’s anything I can do--I care about you so much. I want you to be all right.’

She turns to him, her eyes wide as she looks at him. ‘Ben,’ she says gently, warningly. 

‘I’ve felt this way for a long time,’ he continues, ignoring her cautious tone. ‘I never hoped that you’d return my feelings. But I want you to know that if I can ever do anything for you, please--just tell me.’

She closes her eyes and the phone rings again for the third time. He immediately stands up and leans over to get the phone, though she reaches it before he does, slamming her hand down on the receiver to prevent him from picking up the phone.

‘Don’t,’ she says, her voice low and dangerous. ‘Don’t, Ben.’

‘You’re hurting, Elizabeth. Why won’t you let me help you?’

‘What do you want me to say, Ben? What could you possibly want me to say?’ she snaps.

_Hello, this is Liz. I’m unable to take your call right now; please leave a message._

‘I know you’re there. You need to give me a chance to explain… it’s breaking my heart, bein’ without you. Come _on_ , Lizzie, pick up the phone!’

He’s watching her, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her hand gripping the phone with white knuckles. She’s in so much pain it hurts him and he steps over to her, wrapping his arms around her. She stiffens in his arms and begins to struggle as Logan continues to speak.

‘I feel so stupid just talkin’ into your answering machine… why won’t you call me back? What we had meant something,’ he says at last. ‘You know it did.’ He hangs up the phone but not before they hear a faint but distinctly feminine giggle on the other end. 

She’s stopped struggling now, simply stands there, and he continues to hold her as she begins to cry. She doesn’t return his embrace, her face buried against his chest as he strokes her hair.

‘It’ll be all right, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, feeling her hiccup slightly as her sobs abate. She pulls back at last and looks up at him, her eyes cloudy and unreadable. He swallows, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, and he drops his hands.

‘What are we doing, Ben?’ she asks. ‘Surely this isn’t what you want. You’ll go back to Paris in a few days or a week, and I’ll stay here… Whatever you might have felt for me years ago, whatever you might have hoped for… it wouldn’t be what you imagined. I wouldn’t be enough. I’m not the person you want.’

‘I’m not going back to Paris,’ he says, making his decision in an instant. ‘I’m moving back to New York. And Elizabeth… how could you think that you wouldn’t be enough? You are everything. And you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I just want you to know--I want to be there for you.’

She closes her eyes then opens them again. ‘I don’t know what to say, Ben.’

‘Say yes,’ he says, praying silently. ‘Just say yes.’

She nods slowly and he sighs in relief, taking her into his arms. He kisses her hair and she wraps her arms loosely around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder.


End file.
